


Corners

by Ladycat



Series: Treasure'verse [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conditioning, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But Xander isn't touching him, or acknowledging him in anyway. Just sitting and breathing, leaning his head back so it makes the mattress dip, Spike's foot sliding closer to messy, sweat-mussed locks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corners

**Author's Note:**

> A very young Xander is bought by Spike and his father Giles. Contains a serious potential squick regarding pedophilia, so please don't read if that bothers you.

Spike knows what's coming long before the door rattles. He can hear it, across the way and down the hall, soft sounds and muffled, gasping cries. He's heard those cries before, of course, and usually loves provoking more of them; but not when there's an edge of pain, like the a hint of a blade flashing. Not when there's nothing _good_ there.

But for all Spike's become very comfortable these last few weeks, there are some lines he knows he can't cross just yet. It's not that he's different and unfamiliar -- even though he's bloody certain that he's no longer truly _unfamiliar_ \-- it's that for all his little brother gives himself over with a sweet look and a hint of nervousness, Xander isn't a trusting lad. Not truly. Not with the secrets he still keeps, and all the shadowed memories he doesn't ever mention.

Dad seems to think that because he gives his body so freely that they're making progress. Spike knows better; Xander's never thought of that as _his_.

He lies there, staring at the faint tape marks just barely visible on the ceiling -- yes, the pictures he'd tried to put up there had been a bad idea, but Dad didn't have to laugh quite so much when they'd fallen on his head -- and waits. He's pretty sure, or at least hopeful, that even if Xander doesn't trust them yet, he knows that he _can_. So he lies there, listening to broken moans that have none of the swirling, chocolate-rich depths of Xander's pleasure, and hopes they'll end soon. Even if it means Xander just goes back to sleep... Spike knows he's not a nice person, not really, but he's not that cruel, either. He’ll take anything that eases Xander’s fear, even if it has nothing to do with him.

When the moans finally die away into ragged, painful breathing, Spike doesn't relax. Not until the floor creaks, and the light underneath his door shifts, and the doorknob rattles sharply against the metal lock. He shifts onto his side, better able to see the door, and waits. And waits.

He starts glancing at the clock, the tiny green numerals at the bottom left flashing as seconds turn to minutes. Xander hasn't left yet -- Spike can practically feel his heat through wood and an additional fifteen feet of room -- but he's not coming in, either. Just resting his hand on the doorknob, palm probably sweaty from fears, his face flushed, hair damp and scrubbed into untameable tufts ...

The door doesn't creak as it opens, just slides smoothly inward as if it's on a track. Spike doesn't know when Xander turned off the hall light, but there's only a hint of pale moonlight to outline Xander's form as he cautiously creeps into the room. Spike knows his eyes are probably glinting with reflected light -- it explains the stuttered hitch of breath, or perhaps that's a swallowed sob -- but Xander doesn't give any indication he knows that Spike is awake. Just creeps his way into the room, door smoothly gliding shut behind him, until he can sit along the side of the bed.

He's not close enough to touch. Spike's arms aren't that long, but it's near enough that Spike can smell sweat tanged with fear and desperation. It's metalic, and frightening coming from a boy that's usually sunshine and green, growing grass.

But Xander isn't touching him, or acknowledging him in anyway. Just sitting and breathing, leaning his head back so it makes the mattress dip, Spike's foot sliding closer to messy, sweat-mussed locks.

It's not often that Spike's caught without anything to do. He's got _options_ , of course: touch Xander, or speak to him, or even just go to sleep with his toes just brushing the top of Xander's head. But he wants to do the right thing, not just any old decision, and he has no idea what that is. It's an uncomfortable feeling.

"Is..." Xander's words are so soft that, for a moment, Spike thinks he's dreaming them. "I'm sorry."

A hush Spike hasn't noticed falls away, the muffling darkness of pre-dawn light suddenly not as confining and compressing as it had been moments before. Spike almost misses the way his lungs can't extend fully. "For what?" he murmurs, voice as soft as his brother's.

"D-didn't want to wake you up."

Spike smiles, knowing Xander can't see him, and wiggles his toes. He catches some of Xander's hair between them, as he'd know it would, and he tugs and twists gently. It's as close as he's going to touch without permission; Xander still smells of mineral-laced fear, making Spike's nose wrinkle.

"Didn't," he sighs. "Couldn't sleep." It's a lie, but it's one Spike knows how to work -- he and Dad trade for it all the time -- and anyway, it's more important because it's an opening.

Or at least it's _intended_ as an opening. Instead of pouring out his woes, Xander makes a chuckling sound that reminds Spike of little kids who cry so hard they can't stop laughing. It has the same bubbling, broken quality to it. "Liar," Xander says, as full of school-yard teasing as a boy sitting on the floor beside his brother's bed can be.

"Not nice," Spike returns, "accusin' me of lying."

Bantering is the _last_ thing Spike expects, but Xander responds to it by grinning -- his teeth, and silvery tracks along his face glow -- and finally turning to face him. "Oh, like it's so unfamiliar."

"Oi! I am far to important -- which means wealthy, love -- to be accused of _lying_. In my case, it's artfully rearranging the truth." He's trying to reference a conversation the two of them had not three days before, about the differences between 'crazy' and 'eccentric' and how Xander could now claim to be the latter. It's supposed to make Xander grin, but like most of Spike's _supposed to_ ’s tonight, it does the opposite.

Xander loses animation so fast that Spike's sitting up and leaning over in a flash, cupping his palm around Xander's cheek. "Hey, now. C'mere."

"No, I -- "

"Don't argue." It's Dad's voice, but Xander responds better to him than to Dad most days. Dad knows that, but since Spike is perfectly willing to reissue the orders, he doesn't mind yet. "You're bloody freezing, and you know I hate being cold, so come get _in_ here."

Xander makes a mulish face -- the first normal expression Spike's seen yet -- but he obediently clambers into bed with Spike, allowing Spike to move his larger, heavier body however he likes.

How he likes is to get Xander on his back, legs slightly elevated so that Spike can worm his way underneath, arms behind Xander's head. It's _not_ comfortable for him, but it's probably the most reassuring he can get with Xander -- the boy likes to be touched. The more, the better.

Xander's tensed up and miserable, his lower lip chewed to striated pieces as Spike watches him. He's expecting to be forced, Spike understands. To have his words and dreams pulled from him, the way he controls so little else in his life. But Spike doesn't want to _take_ the bad dreams from Xander -- and this scares him more than a bit -- he wants to be _given_ them.

So he rests his cheek against Xander's, occasionally kissing the conveniently close earlobe, and just relaxes. He's heavy, but he knows Xander appreciates the weight and the constriction, so he lets himself go completely while Xander trembles beneath him. The trembling gets worse the longer Spike says nothing, but Spike understands that. Understands it _completely_ and just lies there, breathing, his heart beating much slower than the quick patter of Xander's.

He can't see the clock like this so he doesn't know how long they stay like that, but he comes out of a doze when Xander finally sighs and starts _truly_ realxing. "Sorry," he repeats.

"Yes, terribly fashed to have you crawl into bed with me," Spike teases, nipping Xander's earlobe. It's not _sexual_ , not really, although Spike is more than content if it goes that direction. Xander's sexual education is growing in leaps and bounds -- the boy comes on command now, and can harden with a glance -- but for some reason Spike doesn't really want to sully this. It's too ... intimate. Even for two boys who've done everything but actual penetration.

Xander's arms creep up around Spike's sternum, pressing against him lightly, as if he's unsure of his welcome. That makes no sense to Spike -- he thought he'd made it clear that all touching from Xander is good -- but when he doesn't object, the weight gradually grows firmer and heavier until Xander's holding so hard Spike's going to have trouble breathing, soon, Xander's face pressed hard to the crook of his neck.

Well, then.

Spike rolls, pulling Xander with him until he's on his back, Xander burrowing against him.

That seems to be the permission Xander needs, because suddenly he's shivering and shaking and trying to crawl into Spike's body. There are tears and sweat leaking down his neck, but Spike doesn't mention that. Just holds as tightly as he's held, wondering what on earth has set Xander off like this -- until he feels lips on the point of his chin.

It's not like there weren't lips before -- if a face is mashed against you, you get nose and eyebrows and lips in pretty much equal measure. But these are soft and petal-delicate, and very intentional. As is the sweep of Xander's tongue, rasping against the skin he'd just kissed.

Spike shocks the hell out of both of them when he sits up and pushes Xander a scant three inches away.

Expressions pass by too quickly to be read, but the disgruntled annoyance Xander wears at the end is easy enough to tag. "What, it's okay only when _I_ get used?"

He's trying to be cutting and cruel, but his voice is shaking and his eyes can't stop moving. Spike leans forward and presses his mouth to Xander's, swallowing any of the bitter words he might still produce. Xander moans into the kiss, melting again, but Spike doesn't let him cuddle the way he -- they both -- want.

"Pet, you want to forget an' I'll help you do that," Spike tells him, ghosting his mouth up to kiss the memory of tears from the corner of his eyes. "But first you've got to calm down, yeah? I’m not gonna hurt you. Don't want you to think half-way through that I'm forcing you."

Xander's protests die when he finally hears what Spike's told him. He backs up, eyes clear for the first time as he studies Spike's face in the darkness. "That's, um. A weird thing to say?"

Spike shrugs. "Yeah. But it's not wrong, is it?"

Xander starts to shake his head, then freezes, looking guilty. "So... one of the boys before me?"

It's not like they keep it a secret, but Spike still has to control a flinch. He hates it when Xander references the 'boys' in the past, not because he's ashamed of anything he or they do, but because Xander is ... well, Xander. And that makes it different in ways Spike doesn't understand.

He thinks Dad does, oddly. He's seen the way Dad looks at them.

"No," he says, forcefully enough that Xander winces. "No," he repeats, gentler. "Not one of the other _boys_. Um. Me, actually."

Xander blinks at him a few times, lips moving before sound finally eeks out. "You?"

Spike shrugs, the shirt moving oddly since Xander's weight still rests on half of it. "Was younger than you are, but ... yeah. It was before I was living with Dad."

None of them have ever talked about Spike’s past -- other than amusing anecdotes and the like -- and not at all about Spike's mother. There's a reason for it, though Spike isn't interested in going into details. He will, if it'll help Xand; but it's not something he relishes.

"I don't ..." Xander's losing his own fear into the cluelessness he sports like a shield. "How? B- _before_ Dad?"

Spike gently cups Xander's face, forcing the younger boy to look at him. "Didn't have a picturesque childhood, love, not until Dad took me in. Not until Dad found out I was _alive_ really -- the problem with getting doxies knocked up, you understand."

Xander nods, brow wrinkled as he thinks. Spike knows the boy won't care about Dad spending time with hookers -- female hookers, at that. But that there's a time when Spike wasn't the calm, confident older brother, the one who takes care of Xander and doesn't need to be taken care of, well ... that bothers him.

"So ... you had nightmares?" Xander reasons. It's something he can grab onto, cling to as familiar.

Spike chuckles, leaning forward to kiss him again. "Yeah, love. I had nightmares. Crawled into the wrong bed afterwards, too." Spike doesn't mention that it was that 'crawling' that actually alerted Dad to his son's existence -- that was a much longer story Spike wasn't telling without Dad there. Or at least Dad's permission.

"So ... ?" Xander looks utterly adorable like this, a big black labrador puppy that has no idea which way is the right direction but desperately wants that word of praise.

"So," Spike says, "means I understand. You want to talk, we can talk. You want to forget, we can do that too. But not if you're gonna freak out half way through, yeah?"

"But how would I know?" There's a familiar hint of artlessness that means Xander's teasing him, or at least trying to. "I can't predict the future."

Spike makes a growling noise and leans forward to _bite_ Xander's lower lip. He's content now that the boy is genuinely teasing him -- if poorly -- since it means that Xander isn't quite the lostling that showed up ten minutes before.

It's better when Xander moans at the bite, eyes fluttering closed.

"There, now." Spike tugs Xander towards him and then back onto the bed. "What'd Dad and I tell you about wearing clothes to sleep, hm? Makes it more difficult to do this." Spike cups between Xander's legs, rubbing the heel of his hand against a hardening cock. "Off, love. Take them off for me."

Xander skins out of his shirt eagerly, eyes bright and trusting as they look up at Spike's face. He's as desperate for this as he was desperately afraid not so long ago -- and Spike knows, clearly, that is not the best thing to do. The best is to talk, to draw out the nightmares Spike's fairly certain he already knows the scripts to. But he still wants to be given that, and he doesn't want to force Xander to do anything he doesn't want, so he leans forward to trail kisses down a broad, smooth chest while Xander wiggles out of his pants while trying not to dislodge him.

"Please," Xander whispers.

"Please what, little one?" Spike asks, flicking at Xander's nipple with his tongue. "Your choice tonight. What do you want to do?"

Xander's eyes flash down to Spike's cock -- he's already naked, of course -- and _licks his lips_.

Spike almost comes damned near then.

"Could -- c-could you, um. In the limo? The way you ... "

They've done lots of things in the limo, but Spike still knows what he means. "Hm," he says, idly stroking the boy's stomach, and tugging at his cock. He understands Xander wants to feel covered and protected, but he's not entirely certain being _passive_ is a good thing. Spike knows how easy it was for him to fall into that, especially when he was frightened ...

"Anything else?" he asks, smiling apologetically.

Xander rolls his eyes, but doesn't object. He's learned in infancy that his wants and desires weren't to be catered to -- but he also knows that Spike and Dad will never hurt him, only make him feel good, so he doesn't mind it so much. "I could ..." his eyes flicker downwards again.

Spike gets it, then, and snickers. He forgets, sometimes, that receiving doesn’t mean _passive_ , particularly not for a boy who throws himself into things as much as Xander does. "Right, fine," he says even as he digs up a bottle of slick from underneath his pillow and hands it and his forefingers to Xander. The boy doesn't lube him up so much as massage him, a trick he hasn't been trained to but is welcome all the same. He's trembling in anticipation and if the metalic-smell of upset hasn't totally faded, the scent of Xander's musk is fast overriding it.

Xander's breathing in short, fast little gasps as he lifts his legs, welcoming Spike's touch before Spike's ready to give it. Spike chuckles, stealing another kiss even as his fingers find smooth balls, and smooth, touchable skin directly behind them. He rubs, mimicking the same rhythm his tongue uses as he presses it into Xander's mouth.

"You are a treasure," Spike murmurs, because no matter how much he hates it, no matter how often he fights and denies it, he really is a romantic at heart. And Xander is warm and pliant and entirely willing, even with sweat still sour on his neck, which somehow makes Spike want this even more.

"Hold them," Spike murmurs, chuckling when fingers brush against his belly, tickling slightly, on their way to gripping behind Xander's knees. Xander's trembling, now, his cock a painful shade of red as Spike runs lube-slick fingers all over the insides of Xander's thigh, paying close attention to perineum, balls, and the sensitive skin just immediately below.

Xander starts moaning by the second pass-through, the sound getting higher and more desperate when Spike circles around the entrance to his body, massaging the soft tissue there.

Dad's already been here, and Spike's certainly touched him a whole lot, but Spike’s never been the one to gently ease a forefinger inside a tight, grasping inferno, Xander already whimpering, head tossing as Spike explores him. Spike feels a little like whimpering himself, because Xander is _beautiful_ like this, open and willing and wanting so badly -- wanting _him_ so badly.

It only occurs to Spike right then that Dad's only two more doors down the hall and if Xander wanted, he could've gone there. He should have gone, actually. He didn't, though. He came to Spike, crawled into his big brother's bed like he knew it was already okay -- which it is -- and it's Spike he's clearly wanted to be touched by ever since he had the nightmare.

It makes Spike's cock _throb_ with need.

"Breathe," he cautions, even though it's him that's having trouble. Or, okay, possibly both of them but Spike doesn't want Xander to know how much this affects him. He likes being the cool older brother, the protector to this trembling mess of dark hair and dark skin and submissive need, but he's pretty sure that Xander's going to figure it out at some point. And ... that could be okay, he thinks. But later. After he's made Xander come just from fingers up inside his body -- two, now, and moving easily enough that Spike suspects the boy of 'practicing' on his own with the toys Dad places subtly around the house -- and then come again from the feel of Spike's body over him, Spike's cock rubbing up against him.

Spike _wants_ that almost as much as he's pretty sure Xander does.

"C'mon," he pants. He wants to croon the word, but it's more of a croak pressed into Xander's collarbone. "Can you take more, love?" His fingers find Xander's prostate unerringly, rubbing hard and fast just so he can see Xander jerk underneath him. "Do you want more?"

Xander nods like his head is no longer attached by bone and tendon and hot-pumping blood and instead of permission, it's a warning. The internal needle that gauges Xander's comfort-levels is in the red already, heading towards complete melt-down, and like this Xander will agree to _anything_ so long as it makes Spike feel good. It's a quality that Spike loves, not just because of the trust and desire it shows in Xander, but because it makes him feel smugly happy that he gets to know this body below him, gets to fine-tune it as carefully as a master mechanic, playing it the way he plays the piano. But knowing Xander as well as he does means Spike knows that he can _hurt_ Xander, with Xander's enthusiastic permission and participation, without ever meaning to.

So he keeps the fingers at two, moving them faster and harder, driving them against Xander's prostate until Xander's _keening_ , a thrashing, sweaty mess on the bed. Spike's got a hand pressed to his shoulder, the frantic patter of his heart tattooing a design against Spike's palm, and really a last ditch effort to keep Xander from working himself right off the bed. He'll be sore tomorrow, Spike knows, muscles still unused to the kind of wild sex Spike and Dad always draw out of him. But a good kind of sore, and hopefully a physical exhaustion so complete that he won't remember the dreams -- memories, of course they're memories, twisted up now that he's got something to lose -- just what Spike does to help him forget them.

"Come," he murmurs against sweat-streaked skin, curling his fingers down tight. "Come on, Xan. I want to see you come for me."

Xander whimpers, bucking and blindly straining towards Spike's body and voice until he finally cries out sharply, voice totally falsetto as he covers his belly with transluscent come.

Spike gives him about thirty seconds to stop shaking so much, to let each breath stop sounding like it's a sob -- but no more. Scooping up Xander's remains, Spike coats his cock with it even as he rolls Xander onto his belly.

"Shh," he breaths, kissing sweaty hair and the curve of Xander's ear. "Close your legs, love, tight just like we did before."

Xander's muscles are still shaking in reaction and afterglow, but after a first fumbling try, Spike has a slick, tight tunnel of skin to slide against. It's messy, his weight on his hands so he can fuck between Xander's thighs or between his cheeks -- never inside, not tonight -- while simultaneously keeping his legs heavy against Xander's, his weight against the boy's chest as often as he can.

"Yes," Spike pants. He's never quiet during sex, since dirty talk or reassurances turn him on as much as his partner, but he can't speak now. He can just thrust, riding against Xander's thighs and arse, heavy and hot and _weighted_ against him. "Christ, yes."

Xander moans in agreement, arching back and shifting in a way that tells Spike the boy is hard again. He chuckles: "Ah, to be fifteen again."

Squirming, Xander's blush is audible as he finds the best way to hold his body for their combined needs. "It's, um, annoying."

"Nah, it's lovely," Spike returns, knowing compliments to Xander's physical appearance will make him blush even harder. He leans down, cock threatening to slip out from between Xander's arse, so he can press his cheek against Xander's, glorying in the heat there. "Means I get to make you feel _good_ , little one."

Whimpering, Xander's thighs twitch with the need to spread, to thrust himself hard against the mattress. Spike chuckles again, nipping Xander's shoulder before sliding down to a better position. He starts thrusting again, hard and sure and fast, fucking against Xander since he can't fuck _in_ Xander. The boy is mindless below him now, each rocking motion adding to the muscle soreness he'll feel tomorrow and the promise of bliss that waits for both of them.

"Ready, little one?" Spike asks. His cock is screaming for release, balls pulled up tight to his body but he wants Xander to come first. To reassure the boy that as much pleasure Spike gets out of this, that it's _for_ Xander. That it's _because_ of Xander. "Come, baby. Want to feel you shuddering underneath me."

Xander makes a noise that's half-croak, half-aching cry, coming so quickly after Spike's words that it's practically on command. Spike rides through the shudders for five seconds, ten, fifteen -- and then loses it himself, spilling over Xander's arse and back and collapsing against him.

As the minutes tick by, Xander doesn't complain about Spike's weight, or that he's got wet come growing cold on his front and back. He just lies there, breathing slowing down while his body grows totally lax and still and ...

Spike has to chuckle. The boy is fast asleep underneath him, too exhausted to even complain about how hard it is to breathe with Spike on top of him.

Rolling off carefully -- come turns gluey when it's pressed between too bodies like that -- Spike gropes around for the rag that's never too far from his bed and uses it to clean them up. Xander never stirs as he's moved, although he shivers a little when Spike has to move away from him. _Sweet_ , Spike thinks, tossing the rag away as he settles back onto the bed.

Xander immediately rolls closer to him, arms around his waist, head on Spike's shoulder, his breath warm and wet as it mists against Spike's chest. It's a damned wonderful feeling. There'll be conversations tomorrow, and a bit of worrying to be done by Dad since it's clear that Xander isn't as well as they've been hoping -- but right then, Spike can't feel anything but glowing happiness.

Xander came to _him_ , for reassurance and sex, sweetly giving as Spike imposed his desires on him. And Xander is still here, sleeping peacefully like all it right with the world now that Spike's there to protect him.

It's a damned good feeling. The orgasm doesn't hurt, of course, but as Spike drifts off, he's not really thinking about how hard he just came. He's thinking about who and why and _mine_.


End file.
